The elevator hissed open onto Hydra's research wing. It was well past night, but the lab was alive with activity. Rows of screens cast pale light across cluttered desks, and the air buzzed with the quiet hum of cooling fans. Scientists leaned over terminals, muttering in clipped tones as they compared notes.
Pierce entered with Anders at his side, his measured steps echoing sharply on the polished floor. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Conversations cut short, backs stiffened, eyes flicked toward him before quickly looking away. Pierce ignored it all, his attention settling on the reinforced glass case at the room's centre. Inside rested crystalline data-slates and fragments of alien alloy—the gift delivered hours earlier.
He studied them for a long moment, then turned to the senior staff.
"Well?" His voice carried the weight of authority. "You've had all night. Tell me what you've learned."
A thin man with wire-framed glasses stepped forward, clearing his throat. His lab coat looked wrinkled, his face haggard from hours without sleep. "Secretary Pierce," he began cautiously. "We've gone through every file, every fragment. The material is… extraordinary. Beyond anything we've seen. But the data is incomplete."
"Incomplete?" Pierce repeated softly, though irritation sharpened the edge of his words.
The scientist hesitated, glancing at his colleagues before pressing on. "We have detailed designs, cross-sections. We can see what the machines are meant to look like, even guess at their purpose. But the documents don't show us how to build them. No process notes, no fabrication instructions. It's like someone handed us blueprints for a microprocessor but omitted the knowledge of refining silicon, building lithography systems, or running a cleanroom. Without those foundations, we can't reproduce any of this."
A vein pulsed faintly at Pierce's temple. His patience was thinning.
Anders's voice cut through the room like a blade. "The data is not incomplete," he said coldly. "You've been handed technology generations beyond your reach, and instead of building, you whine for instructions. If you need someone to hold your hand to replicate what's in front of you, then you're not scientists—you're monkeys, waiting to be taught how to light a fire."
He turned, fixing the lead scientist with a cold stare. "If you can't understand it, then learn. And if you can't even do that—then find someone who can. We don't need excuses. We need results."
The scientist swallowed hard, colour draining from his face. A few of his colleagues shifted uneasily, avoiding Anders's gaze.
Pierce leaned back slightly, watching the exchange in silence. His eyes moved from Anders to the scientists, then back again. He could sense the fear in the room, the recognition that their limitations had been laid bare. For a moment, he allowed it to hang there—an unspoken reminder of Hydra's demand for results.
Finally, Pierce's voice broke the silence, calm but edged with finality.
"Then we'll do what Hydra has always done. If you lack the intelligence, then find someone who is more intelligent. If you lack the tools, then build them. I don't care how primitive your starting point is; what I want is result."
His gaze slid toward Anders. "Anders will oversee your progress. He seems to have a better understanding of the situation than any of you do. Consider this your last opportunity."
The scientists bowed their heads slightly, a silent acknowledgement.
With that, Pierce turned and strode from the lab, Anders falling into step beside him. The heavy door closed behind them with a dull thud, leaving the room in tense silence.
The scientists exchanged uneasy glances. They didn't need Pierce or Anders to say it aloud—the meaning was clear. If they failed to make sense of the technology laid before them, failure wouldn't just end their careers; it would end their life.
What they didn't know was that success would not save them. If they somehow unraveled the designs and managed to build what the data described, their fate would be sealed the moment the true owner discovered the theft. As a Tech-Priest, Luthar would not simply kill them—death would be mercy. What awaited them would be far worse.
Far away, from Hydra's secret base in Russia, Natasha struggled under Freya's gaze, every blow breaking her.
The training hall echoed with the impact of fists and the sharp thud of bodies hitting mats. It was supposed to be a sparring exercise, but it quickly became a one-sided beating.
Irina moved with unnatural speed, her strikes precise, counters merciless. Natasha blocked, dodged, and tried to retaliate, but each effort was anticipated, each move countered before it landed. Minutes passed, sweat streaked Natasha's face, bruises blooming across her body. Her breath came in harsh, ragged gasps.
Above, the observation deck held a select audience. Freya watched, her expression serene, silver hair catching the harsh lights. Beside her stood Luthar, his servo-skull hovering silently at his shoulder. Natasha's sister clutched the railing tightly, her hands white, worry mixing in her gaze.
Freya's gaze swept over Natasha, noting each precise movement and misstep. "What do you think of the improvements?" she asked, her tone measured.
Luthar's head tilted slightly, optics whirring. "Physically, she's about twenty per cent stronger. But in a real fight… she'd still lose to a trained opponent."
Natasha's leg swept back, trying to counter Irina's throw. Irina twisted, sending her crashing onto the mat. Natasha rolled to her feet immediately, defiant, but the difference in ability was obvious. Irina had the upper hand.
Freya smiled faintly. "How is the repair of the Skimmer going?"
Luthar stepped closer. "It's already finished. Now I can start other projects," he continued. " we can also focus on other projects, like building a base on Mars and improving the Scarabs."
Freya's gaze drifted over the base, her expression betraying a rare flicker of boredom. "That just sounds like more boring work," she said, her voice smooth but tinged with impatience. "Don't you have anything to entertain me?"
Luthar's servo-skull emitted a soft hum as he considered her words. "If you need after upgrading the Scarabs, I can take you around the galaxy. Once I finish the little base on Mars, I can open the gate and let you explore other worlds."
Freya's lips curved into a faint, approving smile. "Impressive. But let us not be too hasty. Let's start with something small—take me around this country and show me around."
Luthar inclined his head, already planning the route. "Well, tomorrow I could take you to sites—urban landscapes, historical landmarks, natural formations."
Freya straightened, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "Well, that's an improvement. You have finally started to think like a normal person."
As their conversation drew to a close, the fight between Natasha and Irina reached its climax. With a swift, precise motion, Irina sidestepped Natasha's desperate strike and delivered a controlled takedown. Natasha hit the mat hard, muscles screaming and breath ragged, struggling to rise—but Irina's calm, unwavering stance left no opening. The match was decisively over; Irina had won, leaving Natasha bruised and exhausted.
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